Page 91 of Chameleon Killer

“Well,” I said with a huff and a hint of a smile. “It’s the closest you’re getting before coffee.”

His mouth almost curved.

Almost.

The tension loosened by a fraction, then settled again. Not gone, but… better.

Flint picked up the next file. “Then let’s find out who removed fourteen pages from a dead man’s medical history.”

I followed his lead because it was easier than asking what, exactly, we were working toward.

Three hours later, at nine fourteen on a Friday night, an envelope appeared beneath my keyboard.

No one saw who put it there.

That should have been impossible.

The Cartwright building required badges at every employee entrance. Visitors signed in downstairs, passed security, and wore temporary credentials that changed color after twelve hours. The loading dock had cameras. The elevators required access above the lobby.

Flint had added two guards after the first call.

The FBI had added four cameras.

The envelope still waited beneath my keyboard as if it had always belonged there.

Cream paper.

My name was typed in the center and there was no postage or return address. He’d hand delivered this—somehow.

Flint stood behind me while I photographed it from every angle.

“You’re not touching it,” he said.

“It’s on my desk.”

“Just being there doesn’t mean you have permission.”

I didn’t need him getting all protective of me. “I wasn’t asking.”

His hand closed around my wrist before my fingers reached the edge. While not painful, his grip was firm and the contact halted us both. His thumb stroked over the skin above my pulse.

We stared at each other for an impossibly long moment. When I looked at his hand, however, he released me immediately.

“Gloves,” he said in a rough, almost hoarse voice.

He had a point, so I opened the second drawer down on my desk and pulled out the box of nitrile gloves. I kept them on hand for a lot of things—like if the fridge in the break room was smelling particularly ripe.

“You should call him,” he said, watching me with a closed off expression.

I didn’t have to ask who. “I will.”

“Before you open it.”

“I’ll call him after.” Easier to ask for forgiveness.

“Mallory.”

“The Auditor—at least we presume it was him—put this on my desk. Whatever was on the outside is already compromised.” If the Auditor left anything for them to find. I didn’t believe that was all that likely.